‘My sister!’ Harry walked proudly towards them all. ‘My sister has been subjected to torture, and I ask you,’ he said, peering at Meddler under his hat, ‘is her torture linked somehow? For sure she cannot speak for herself!’
Somebody whispered, ‘Well, we have all had our suspicions.’
And another concurred, but was silenced – for now at least, but by who? There was an agenda here and was not as random as Meddler had hoped, but then the new magic was spontaneous and unpredictable; no planned assault could foretell of it and vanity precluded any visions that one might have concerning it. For sure, he thought, they shall bring themselves undone!
‘I can also bear witness! and to much, much more!’ Reuben’s entrance was unusually spectacular; the sun’s rays became a myriad of colours that danced on his old red beard, so as it appeared to be set alight,
‘And what do you know, man?’ was a harsh voice, not impressed as the others by the magical display. ‘What is this ridiculous gathering? Where we are all at the whim and reel at tales from this band of poorly put together conspirators! Surely desperate, all of them – for one reason or another?’ The Dowager Proctor Forsythe ventured forward. ‘Now, Sir, and any –’ she whipped with her tongue, ‘– who have a mind to speak up! Who, pray tell, or indeed what do you speak of? I am sure I have never heard such vague and yet damning accusations! A little clarity, if one of you would oblige?’
It would seem that the whole of the town now became spectators and a circle began to form around all the players.
‘Lady, I would not injure or insult you by naming or speaking what I know. Better that you and all here are guided by their own thoughts – instinct.’
It is true that in general, Reuben was admired but the Dowager held sway, and opinion became divided into those who stood with her and those that stood to the side to allow her – saddened that they could not support him.
But still there was the Reverend! Not all was lost. And though Meddler looked sadly upon his fiery friend, knowing that the time quickened – that it approached at a gallop – he felt in his chest his last act would be his finest…
Memories, he informed an anguished Bell Baker, are the most magic of realms; not for the dead – but for those who have truly excelled, have truly impressed upon this earth and you , they become part of you. These souls are the true magicians.
‘Can I say? It is just that I saw the poor wee lamb this morning, myself!’ the butcher’s wife informed rather indignantly – having not been rescued, in fact rather overlooked.
Bell Baker, who had been so engrossed by thoughts he knew not to be his own, called Reuben to his side.
‘You did?’ Harry was confused by the woman’s claim. ‘I am sure that she has not left home for it has only been one day since. And what business would you have at my home, Butcher’s wife? It is not on the way to anywhere that concerns you.’
‘Well!’ She blushed crimson with purple undertones. ‘I say I am sure, positive that I have seen her. You see, I was to call on your mama to see if she wanted any extras? We seem to have a surplus!’ She added forcibly to her husband, being so slow on the uptake, ‘A surplus Matthew!’
Still he seemed too amused at her state of dishevelment, so with punishment in mind she went to join him – but Harry stopped her, ‘You say you have seen my sister?’
‘I was mistaken, young man! Is that allowed? Now please, as you see I am in distress – and has barely been minutes since I fainted!’
So he allowed her to go, where she clipped her husband violently about both ears – daring any to laugh unless they wanted the same.
Meanwhile, Bell Baker had taken Meddler aside at pretence of being in deep contemplation of him.
‘Now!’ Meddler whispered and it echoed through all bringing back the stragglers who had begun to tire.
‘Lord!’ Bell Baker cried, ‘Lord in Heaven!’ he said, clutching Meddler’s arm, who on cue began to shake and weep.
‘Here is one in need of guidance! And if he is too scared to confess to myself, your humble servant, then who? I cannot ask that it be you! I cannot ask this, for would be a miracle – but the strength, the strength to free him from evil, I would ask this! Please?’ He stopped to address his audience, ‘Will you join me in prayer?’
They bristled with pride, all but one, who bided her time to revenge her son.
Joining hands, they stood with bowed heads, awaiting instruction.
‘Do you dare it?’ Bell Baker whispered to him.
‘What! Do you think me scared of her?’
‘No, but the spawn, Meddler?’
‘All quite chaotically under control. Now Reverend, please begin.’
As Bell Baker drew breath a call came from the anonymous again, ‘And what of the sainted memory of Seth Proctor Forsythe?’
It goaded the Dowager, a fierce lady even when happy. She spun around on her pointed heel – pin-pointing exactly where the assault had come from, and silenced it with a piercing look.
The Reverend once again looked to begin.
‘Sir, would you allow a grieving mother a few moments to compose herself before you begin this – exorcism , is it? Before you think to implicate others who may not be here to defend themselves? You see, I have a mind to listen – though my heart aches and begs me not; but even still I think I should be here, and if you shall permit, I will quickly ensure we neither of us are mocked for our beliefs with a quick assertion to the gathering.’
She waited for no response.
‘Some of you may well be inclined – swayed, impressed by what you have heard here today, and I am in no mood to convince the swine herd other than their limited intelligence will allow. Some of you may well enjoy the fantasy, some of you may just feel the hand of God is with this – this committee. But let me tell you that even the good Reverend himself could not surely sanction a revenge for a sin that has no real provenance? Sanction the sullying of a name and of two young girls’ reputations? I am sure, in his good wisdom, he realises that what goes on here today is not, in fact, the beating out of evil spirits – no, rather he seeks to protect the vulnerable, whether they good or bad as is the nature of the cloth. Am I right, Bell Baker? Do you seek to protect – from a deserved lynching, I might add – these pitiful wretches? Sir, you go beyond your capabilities and have limitations.’
Bell Baker contemplated for a while, then returned, ‘Thank you, but in fear of sounding disrespectful, lady – your words are thin and what do you mask with them? You say I make idle threats – but in your very manner I see that you are indeed very prejudiced and if I look to protect, then so do you.’
‘Well then, let us allow this council to decide. I assure you that having heard the words from their lips that they believe some justice was done to my Seth – my beautiful son – then I shall forever keep my peace. I shall not exert any rights or influence I may have to buy a punishment for it. That is my word, but for now let us see if any have anything to add or if any believe this debate a little rich for their blood. And please, we have no need for dramatics.’ She pointedly spoke at Meddler, who cowered again as she pressed her bony finger into his shoulder, pushing him over. Hiding in his big clothes, he cried as she approached him again.
‘I thought better of you.’ Then she walked back to the crowd, and no – Meddler did not feel a need to influence her.
‘More sadness,’ he whispered, though to whom could not be seen, but must be said that he struggled with someone – something and had the effect of making him look even more pitiful but was real, ‘Malachi.’
The dark, and shadowy figure of a witch idled on the corner. There she giggled with her cousin, sister in blood and soul, though strangely the more cunning. For although a pretty piece, the light about her was a murky and foreboding shroud when looked upon without prejudice. She was far from pure, and her beauty her best armoury.
The character who had mocked the Dowager was jostling his way through the feverish crowd. He slipped and on rising
caught the eye of the two. Blushing nervously, he spluttered, ‘Was a joke!’ He tripped again as he sought to find security amongst the others; as we have learned before, there were some in this town – some who felt themselves protectors of Niamh, in particular. And though generally quiet, influencing with stealth and social standing, one did take the time to dust off the man’s coat.
Smiling, Meddler said, ‘There now, you see how easy it is to trip over one’s self? As though a Devil dogs you – mischievous aren’t they? You know, they say a man who does is cursed?’ His eyes looked threatening and dark.‘That his body is manipulated into a tangle – rendered a nonsense. Not all the Devil’s torments are gratuitous, some are simply amusements to entice the young. You see how a simple ball of twine can almost become spell-like?’ He pointed to the two witches who wove threads into contortions with primitive excitement. ‘Back to my tale – Woody isn’t it? Well, Woody – a man rendered ridiculous is of no worth to the sensible and oft time shunned. My, my, why do you look so fearful? I am sure this does not apply to you, surely!’ he shouted. ‘Why, you have always been ridiculous?’ Taking him aside and steadying him with fingers that dug into his flesh – sharp and pointed, overly long nails. ‘Here is an opportunity for you,’ he said with idle threat. Woody blushed again, falling head first into the crowd – annoying them with his clumsiness and was forced back into the arena.
The Dowager lowered her gaze to the pathetic man struggling to regain his composure and attempting to brush it off with a strained laugh, ‘You are of no consequence, and are not even worthy of disdain. You see, your own thoughts are even too much for you! Nothing more than a Ninnyhammer, I would say!’ She raised her voice looking for support in her assumption and hoping his character was injured enough for the others to find him ridiculous. She was rewarded with just that.
The crowd was becoming more volatile, thirsty and starved for first blood – but would not be Woody’s; he crawled away not daring to look, relieved to be thought of as nothing more than ridiculous. Terrified and ashen, he was accosted once more by the man, the Guardian,
‘I am sure you have heard of the fool who tied his boots about his neck and fell into a drunken slumber? Never to waken again.’ He winked. ‘Mind how you go.’
Woody clutched at his throat. ‘For sure, Sir, I have never, nor will I tie my boots about my neck, and thank you for the advice!’ He rushed from the scene, almost knocking over Harry’s father who had come to add weight and influence to the proceedings.
And as they unravelled, was surely needed.
Chapter 21
As one they stood – nothing to divide, though the end waited patiently – teasing from its hide…
The Dowager’s piercing gaze fell upon the Reverend. ‘I had expected a visit from your good self, Reverend – to pay your respects? My Seth –’ her voice broke but she stiffened, looking at those she knew were to blame, ‘– it has not been twenty-four hours, since…’
Bell Baker walked up to her and held her hand. ‘You must be strong, for what I am about to say, forgive me; but I can offer my condolences firstly for your loss, yes I am able to do that – for you are indeed a good woman. But for Seth, there is nothing I can add and felt I would pain you further – but you have forced my hand and I must be blunt.’
Reeling at his words, she turned to face all. ‘And yet, Reverend – we have not yet decided that this was not in fact, a double tragedy! Have we not?’
He took her hand again ‘It is perfectly natural in such circumstances to defend loved ones.’
‘Girls!’ Her shrill voice called them to her side. Sidling up to her, they looked at the ground and to each other.
Meddler cringed and convulsed violently. ‘Please, please!’ he yelped, hiding his eyes and cowering at Reuben’s feet.
Niamh rushed to him and lashed out – kicking him and scratching at his face. She was grabbed by Reuben who deposited her ungainly form into the crowd with force. ‘Just you keep away from us nice, God fearing folk.’
She leaped from the crowd and jumped on Meddler again and the Dowager – with no more patience – stalked up to her, dragging her by the hair.
‘Idiotic child!’ Then she checked herself. ‘She grieves her cousin!’
Finding no sympathy from the crowd who were never particularly fond of the weird one, she paraded Wilhelmina forward. ‘As is my daughter! You see how the tears have left her excellent eyes quite red?’
Some concurred though were not impressed – then the first of the whispers.
‘You might want to keep your hands to yourself, bloody old gypo,’ was directed at Reuben, but from where was of no consequence – the mood had changed.
The Dowager proudly soaked up the changing atmosphere and looked to Bell Baker again. ‘So happy that you have blessed us with yours, and this company today, Reverend. I might even venture, made things much clearer?’
A knowing look to her audience took a little while to register – or maybe some were sad to suspect, and the perfect charade began to lose effect.
Meddler poked Bell Baker sharply with a stick. ‘My suffering!’ he desperately cried, ‘The witches! The witches, how they tear out my insides!’
But was not enough – was too late. Was not how this tale was meant to play out. Bell Baker seemed to know this already and was so distracted that he did not hear his words, or perhaps he protected him by making his voice unimportant.
Meddler scrambled to his feet. Harry and his father had braced and stood by Reuben, who had become the focus of attention.
He went to cry again but was shut up with a stone thrown at his head.
‘Have a little respect,’ he cried.
‘Aye, but now you have something to cry about!’ one said, cruelly – and though giving up, condemned them more, Meddler knew that if he continued, this would turn from a lynching to a witch hunt. Sadly, he looked up at Reuben.
Fierce Reuben stood, proud and unfearing – daring the first to come at him. He walked up to the witches, staring them in the face. ‘So sad for you that before you ever won, you were lost.’
A tiny triumph that was as precious as pirate’s haul; for in truth they would never know the joy others felt – the dawn breaking within every time a lover took the hand of his heart’s desire – the feeling of belonging or of being loved…
‘Malachi,’ he whispered, begged . ‘Nothing changed.’
Next he knew, Reuben had hold of him and dragged him to where they all stood together,
‘You stick with us, damned silly Creature! And mind, if I should go – then you must stay here with our friends.’
Harry did not raise his eyes – neither did his father and their thoughts were plain, even for those without the magic.
‘I suppose I can allow, that in such extreme circumstances mortals can lose faith!’ Bell Baker gave warning with his words and took Meddler’s hand in his, in the kindest act that could have been performed that day, for he truly felt lost.
‘And yet, are we not all expecting a deal too much from one so wee? Or do we feel our own failings and look to act as these aggressors – to hurt and lash out?’
Still they could not look up.
‘Bag of tricks,’ Harry spitefully said, but was hushed by his father.
‘The Reverend is right, boy, we feel our own inadequacy -– but still,’ he added with a deeply sad resignation, ‘I had hope, as you.’
The crowd were calling for Reuben, and their heightened state was terrifying. The Dowager looked away, ashamed, whilst the witches lapped up every exquisite twist and turn of emotions and feasted on the death of innocence whilst they could..
‘For as one dies another is born.’
‘Malachi?’ Meddler whispered.
‘And must always be this way for either to exist. For there to be good there must be evil – is only those in the in between who knew that both are equally responsible for tragedy.’
***
A storm brewed about the two witches – tiny d
ust devils whipped about their feet.
The Dowager screamed, ‘My eye! Oh my eye!’ She rubbed at it frantically, tears streaming down her painted face as she clawed at her daughter for assistance – cursing Niamh, whom she pushed aside indignantly.
This,Meddler enjoyed – as did all.
White and pinched, she smiled at Meddler. ‘Here, little one, we are not mean – you are simple aren’t you?’
Willy giggled nervously, though the Dowager was having none of it, and poked her, ‘Leave her to it, child!’ It was a warning, and Wilhelmina obeyed resentfully. ‘Now, girl, come see to your mama’s eye, for I am sure I go blind!’
‘Wouldn’t that be the cherry!’ Niamh laughed.
‘Vicious girl!’ the Dowager raged. ‘Ungrateful, poisonous!’
‘Ah but she is special in that respect,’ came a dark voice from the crowd and hushed the Dowager. She had known that some seemed to shepherd her and at times had truly felt threatened by so much as a look – a sideways glance or comment.
Willy attended her mama as best she could, though she shook with a nervous adrenaline and laughter. She mopped the tears, saying, ‘Your poor old, fat face, Mama!’
The Dowager was in too much pain to reprimand her and snatched the tissue from her daughter, sending her away.
Niamh winked at Meddler. ‘Here then.’
Her fascination terrified him. He cringed inside as though she had hold of his heart, one he was not aware of until this day. He looked upon Reuben’s fleeting desperation; a man who had given up all to save a people he called family and some he had grown to know as friends.
He tapped Meddler’s shoulder. ‘Mind yourself of that thing, ay.’ And gently he touched his chest where beat a heart that beat a path to sadness – with a fierceness that could not be stemmed.
‘For sure he is under some spell!’ His voice shook, but this crowd was not for turning.
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